Death on a Cold Street 12
by whatcatydidnext
Summary: The year is 1890, two years previously London had reeled under the spectre of Jack the Ripper. Inspector Magnus Martinsson is an ambitious young policeman, when the bodies of two women turn up in Idegranstad, he has no witnesses and little evidence. But hunting down the murderer leads him to a seemingly nameless girl, and to a darkness in himself that he scarcely knew existed.


Death on a Cold Street 12

Christina looked down from the window. The meagre activity in the paved courtyard below was her only entertainment, the room behind, bare now of all refinement, nothing but the bed remained.

She glanced at naked toes and forced back her fury. The wretched Madame Eloise had taken everything, left her only her chemise and draws. The inspector had told her she was not a prisoner, but he had lied. He told her she would be safe, then brought her to a bordello!

This was not a safe place, this was the very kind of place 'He' would come looking for her.

And the respectable Inspector Martinsson seemed on very good terms with the Madame. The woman had kissed his cheek, asked after his daughter. Was this his favoured place, this woman his…mistress? She wasn't sure why this thought should add to his faults, but it did.

He had lectured her, given her instructions, advised her to _trust_ him.

Why would she trust him? How was he better than any of the other men she knew?

When the first opportunity presented itself, she had taken her bag and headed for the discreet back door of the establishment.

Unfortunately the house 'gorilla' was there first and was unmoveable.

"Otto, take the lady back to her room." The whore mistress had snatched Christina's valise from her hand. "And you, _madam_," she snapped, "will do as you are told!"

Without a further word Otto hefted Christina over his massive shoulder. She wriggled, thumped his back with clenched fists, yelled, even let fly a string of words she remembered from her childhood, words she knew to be offensive. None of it affected the mountain of a man, he just steadily climbed the stair, carrying his furious cargo back to her prison.

Christina landed with an undignified thump on the large brass bed.

"If you can't do what's in your best interest, then we'll just have to lock you in." Madame Eloise smiled smugly as she crossed her arms over her chest. "The Inspector was quite insistent. You stay here. To that end…" She looked about her, screwed her eyes in thought. "Let's see you run off in your draws. Take your clothes off."

Christina refused.

The madam withdrew a set of keys from a small purse at her waist. "I like the Inspector, I respect him. He's a good man, not one of the usual hypocrites we see." She took an easy step around Christina, swinging the keys in her hand. "But you? I don't know_ you_. I said I'd keep you safe, and that's just what I'll do."

###

For three days she had been held. Otto, her jailor and nursemaid, brought food, hot water to wash in, emptied her commode even. But never spoke, never blinked, just went about his duties. When she threw things, he neatly sidestepped the missiles, calmly picking up bits of broken vase, lifting mangled flowers from the rug with assiduous care. Pieces of smashed china were cradled delicately in his large hands and silently carried away. He even neatly folded the bed linen when he caught her trying to make a rope from the sheets; folded, then removed. For three nights she slept on the bare mattress, each day her anger exhausted her.

And now, no less angry, she plotted, constructed meticulous plans to outwit her jailers.

But the unlocking of the door still caught her unprepared.

_ "What in the name of…!"_ Magnus stood dumfounded. The room stripped of comfort, all sign of the neat, respectable governess was gone. Madame Eloise had explained the attempt at flight, but he had not expected this. Her undressed and dishevelled appearance took him by surprise. "Are you all right, are you hurt?"

Hurt, _hurt? _Had he become suddenly dim-witted? _Of course she was hurt!_

She flew at him, beating at his chest. "You think this is my choice, my _preference_?"

Her lack of height did not prevent the blows finding their target. He lifted his arms to block her. The attack took Magnus by surprise and he cursed himself for not being prepared. The tussle at the boat shed should have warned him she was not the frail, wide eyed young girl one might suppose.

Her fury unabated, she clawed at his face instead._ "You_ brought me to this dreadful place, _'you!" _

"Stop, for pity sake woman, _STOP!"_

But she paid him no heed.

Every past hurt ever meted out to her, every insult she had ever endured, all were now to be avenged on this man, this heartless, callous man.

"Enough, I-said-_enough!"_ He ducked her wild flailing, grasped her wrists, forced her hands from his face. _"Are you mad?"_

Then she spat full in his face, and they both froze.

Christina backed away, hand to her mouth, appalled at her own actions.

Magnus jaw tightened as he retrieved a kerchief from his pocket. Carefully, he wiped the spittle from his cheek.

Taking a wary step back, she glanced about for something to defend herself with. He would surely beat her now.

But Magnus just advanced, blocking her in the corner of the room. "Now," he said with deceptively cold composure. "My turn." His large hands splayed, held her head, denying movement. All his honourable, upright principles left him. He held fast, tilted her head up, and kissed her, full and deep, his eyes wide open, as he indulged himself in her soft pliable mouth. Lost in the feel of her warmth, her submission, he almost forgot who he was, why he was there…

Christina was torn, his mouth promised what she thought she craved, affection, warmth, all the things denied her by the men who used her. Harald had never touched her thus!

With a jolt she pulled away from him. He was using her too, that was all that would ever happen. No matter how glorious his kiss, she would be a toy to be manipulated, bent at the will of another.

Before she had even formed the intent in her mind, her hand flew hard.

The force of the slap jarred his head to the side. Magnus was caught between shock and lust. He snatched at her, but she pre-empted him, grabbing his shirt in her fists, she pulled him down into another kiss, this time of her making.

Teeth scraped, her tongue clumsily battled his for supremacy, and neither won.

Breathless, Magnus pulled away, exhilarated, reason was a distant thing. He jammed her against the wall, one hand pulled her firmly to him, the other wrestled at the fastening of her draws, pushed them down.

Christina caught his wrist, wrenched that intruder away. Whatever he thought, this was _her _choice, she would do the taking, her turn, not his. "No…no!" She wriggled in his hold. "I–said-no!"

"That's 'no' to what?" Magnus held her, tugged the draws, nudged at her feet with his, till the tiresome bundle of cotton could be kicked free. The fight for control found them sliding, tangled to the floor. Magnus, his back to the wall, brought her astride him with ungentle hands, her back hard against his raised thighs. Holding her wrist, rigid at his chest, he ground out through clenched teeth. "What do you want of me?"

She swallowed as his grip tightened. "I need…you to…"

Biting back a smile, his long, cool fingers invaded her wetness, sliding crudely over her pearl.

He mocked at her. "_That?_ Is _that_ what you need?" Anger vied with lust within him. "Oh, I can surely oblige you there."

Christina threw her head back, roared with frustration and resentment. This man had her almost in pain with want. The feel of him tense between her legs panicked her, but it was a delicious fear. She wanted to pin him down, fight him, lick him, bite him, take him in her mouth, _and have him writhe!_

There was no denying he made her body sing, made her angry, jealous, wretched, wild with need.

_ But not afraid._

"I hate you, now it is _my_ turn, you can suffer being a nothing, a doll for my amusement." She palmed his cock hard, gratified at the sharp groan of pleasure it prompted. She squeezed expertly down the still clothed length. Abruptly, she drew her hand away, held it to his face. "I can make you a king or a babbling wreck." Jabbing her palm inches from his eyes. _"I can do that!"_

Magnus was breathless, rage gone, replaced by a chaos of hunger sharpened by his self-imposed thirst.

This was a battle of a much different sort.

Delicate lace slipped from her shoulder, exposing a perfect, plump breast, the golden ring hooking the swollen nipple, quivering before his eyes. The beautifully cruel sensuality of it held him transfixed. He was ravenous for her, to feel her body around him, let his tongue tug on the ring, suckle there, have her upon him, ride him.

One more spike of lust gored at his belly. "_Do it then_." Fingers snarled in her hair as he pulled her down into another brutally exacting kiss.

Christina immersed herself in the taste of him, while her knowing fingers freed his eager cock.

Magnus snarled, swore, it had been so long since he felt the touch of a woman's hand on him. He broke the kiss, breathing hard he looked down, watched her practised movements as she settled herself over him. He hardly recognised his own low, uneven sounds of satisfaction as her soft, moist flesh slid over his.

Christina knew well how to please a man, _now_ she would please herself.

With decisive care she arched, sinuously skimmed the hot hard length of him. An upward movement caught her pearl, caused her to cry out, this was what she wanted. Repeating the motion rewarded her with another jolt of delight.

Magnus was gripped her hips now, trying to direct her movements, but he failed, and ground out, "Stop the teasing…_Hell, let us just fuck!"_

But she smiled, reached behind her, held his thighs. Once more gliding forward, barely touching him, she taunted him with her own pleasure.

Magnus's fingers tightened on the soft flesh of her full hips, his jaw tight, tiny breaths hitching in his throat. Wanting to taste her mouth again, he leant forward, but she drew back. Her glorious breasts swaying, beguiling inches from his mouth. The gold trinket, that he had once seen as defiling her, glinted proudly in the sunlight.

This was the bold play he hungered for. No thought of sin or even sheathing himself. All his consideration of the act were the sights, sensation, the greedy need for another's flesh to complete his own.

Every muscle taut, he reared up, pushing her harder onto him, her answering whimper made him choke out a laugh. He did it again.

Christina jerked up onto her knees, "No, I'll tell you when!" She had never controlled her own pleasure, _never,_ she would not let him steal it from her now.

But she had not reckoned with his need, his mouth closed around the adorned nipple and suckled.

Christina knew her weakness. Cupping the breast, she held it for him, urged him further, begging him to bite.

Magnus obliged, nipping, rasping his tongue over the tender nub, while below his slick hardness beckoning her down.

The moment his mouth released her, she sank, sheathing him to the root. With sensuous precision, she rolled her hips. She had never expected to feel joy from these acts, never expected to feel wonder, but she did. Her inner muscles rippled against the solid length of him, the tightening promise of gratification mocked her, just beyond her reach.

With a grunt Magnus drove his hips upward, his fingers tight at her waist, dragging her down on him, and the world exploded in her belly.

And it was all hers.

Hunger for his own end overwhelmed him, the sight of her body writhing in completion brought the grunting animal in him thrusting up again and again, driving himself deeper, impaling her. Snatching the breath from her, she hung on to his shoulders.

Breath quickened, back arched set to crack, balls tightened.

And he howled as he filled her.


End file.
